


Maybe Tomorrow

by lady_krysis (saekhwa)



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Character of Color, Community: daily_prompt, Female Character of Color, Female Characters, Female Protagonist, Gen, POV Character of Color, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-24
Updated: 2010-06-24
Packaged: 2017-10-10 06:29:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/96642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saekhwa/pseuds/lady_krysis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something wild and uncaring, or perhaps careless, in the curl of Clay's lips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt ['I cannot avert my eyes'](http://dailyprompt.dreamwidth.org/126390.html) at [](http://dailyprompt.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**dailyprompt**](http://dailyprompt.dreamwidth.org/).

Clay's blood spills over Aisha's hands, bright and hot in the grooves of her skin. Each ragged inhale that Clay takes distends his stomach, pulsing more blood over Aisha's fingers, but it's not the wound that draws her attention; it's Clay's grin. His mouth is stretched wide, his teeth flashing white and stark against his lips, which are quickly growing pale from his blood loss. But there's something wild and uncaring, or perhaps careless, in the curl of his lips.

Jensen reaches for Clay next, holding tightly to Clay's hand. "Hold on, man, just—Just don't die on us, okay?"

This isn't a wound that can be fixed with a sterile needle and thread, and Aisha can't turn Clay over to see if the bullet exited like it should have or if it's lodged. Gut wounds like this are tricky. There's the kidneys, the bladder, the intestines, any of which, if damaged, could lead to septic shock. It's a slow and painful way to die.

Aisha briefly sniffs the air but smells nothing but panic and blood and burning buildings. Clay might just be lucky today.

She bears down with her weight, flattening her palms against the wound to staunch the flow of blood, and she watches Clay's breath rush out and his eyes flutter shut, knowing with each passing second that she could simply watch him die.

"Pooch," Aisha says, "get me a vehicle. Now."

Cougar helps Aisha without prompting, grabbing Clay's shoulders and pointing Jensen toward Clay's ankles. Clay's grin turns into a grimace when they lift him, his brows furrowing as a shudder wracks his body. He lifts a shaking hand, the broad span of his palm nearly covering both of Aisha's, and squeezes. His grip is stronger than Aisha expects.

"Hospital's gonna be tricky," Clay says, each word forced out between a breath.

"Not for me," Aisha says.

They heft him into the van, and Aisha pulls her hands free, forcing Jensen to take her place with a sharp tug on his arm. Her fingers are tacky with Clay's blood, the thick droplets splashing a trail as obvious as the seconds Clay has left. Aisha leaves a clear imprint on the passenger's seat as she climbs into it to give Pooch directions, and the blood soaks into her pants when she rubs her palms down her thighs.

It's only fitting that later, Aisha takes care of the van.

She watches it burn like a funeral pyre.

~*~

For the most part, the team is gone when Clay finally wakes. But Aisha isn't stupid. While the room may be clear of everyone but her and Clay, she knows that Cougar is posted on a building somewhere with a clear shot through the hospital window and most likely keeping the team apprised of Clay's condition, which, for now, is alive.

Aisha is patient while Clay scopes out the room. Once he's made some determination of it, his eyes land on her again, another grin breaking across his face.

"Does this mean I owe you one?" he asks.

Aisha stands, noting the clear, sharp look in Clay's eyes as he tracks her movements. She doesn't offer him platitudes, and he realizes soon enough that she isn't going for her knife or a gun or the pillow tucked beneath his head. He relaxes once more when Aisha grabs the cup of ice at his bedside and offers him an ice chip, sliding it over his cracked, dry lips before setting it on his tongue.

"I'll be the one who kills you," she says and sets the cup down. "Not some stray bullet or one of Max's goons."

Clay stares at her, eye to eye, and then nods. "Fair enough." Aisha turns to leave, but Clay grabs her hand. "Mind giving me another piece of ice before you go?"

Aisha detaches Clay's hand and wraps his fingers around the cup. "I expect you back on your feet tomorrow," she says. Then, with a parting smile, she silently exits the room.


End file.
